i tried to slot in a few less obvious ones in there to keep it interesting

“what’s that?”

in the cloisters every sound echoed, the hum and buzz of the operations room filtering in through the large arched doorways. the late afternoon sun was spilling through the stained glass windows, and everything was bathed in that signature pink and blue, but versions that were warmed by the sunset, shafts of perfect orange light coming through the clear portions.

underneath all that light magnus was fixing one of his fingerless leather gloves when alec walked up. as usual alec had his thigh holster strapped to his thigh, but instead of a bow he was holding something in his hand that was pitch black and looked overly complicated. which was precisely why magnus asked that.

his brows were pulled together in confusion as he stared at it and then he glanced up at alec with a single raised eyebrow, about to ask where alec’s bow was. but the minute he saw the look on alec’s voice he closed his mouth and attempted not to burst into laughter because… alec looked pissed.

he didn’t only look pissed. he was pissed and that was clear enough. his jaw was tight and magnus caught the tail end of an eyeroll. his lip was slightly curled and exasperated annoyance seemed to have made home in all of the muscles of his shoulders. it shouldn’t have been as funny as it was but magnus really had to hold back his laughter at the way alec seemed to be trying to control himself.

“this,” alec started, sounding less like he was explaining something and more like he was verbally slicing someone in half. “is the weapon i’m supposed to test out tonight.” there was no joy in his voice and he stared magnus down as he shifted his fingers on the black frame and suddenly the whole thing rearranged itself.

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A Bit Too Much

Originally posted by martziplier98

Request: If you’re still open for requests, could you do a one-shot where all of the Iplier egos are yandereish for the reader, and they work together to keep the reader (and for once they’re willing to share), please? If you can’t do all of the iplier egos, could you do the main ones from Markiplier TV? You’re writing is great btw.

Notes: I ended up using the main egos from the gif cause Mark has too many alters to choose from.


It was no secret that the Ipliers had taken an extreme liking towards you. Because you assisted their creator, Mark, as an editor, you worked with his many alter egos and even befriended some of them. They were all, however, very much aware of the other’s feelings or infatuation with you, and eventually things spun out of control.

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Kinktober #12: Master/Slave [Part 2/2, gently nsfw~]

<< Part 1


Everything in Hinata’s new life seems to be going very, very well. He and Tobio slowly but surely have become inseparable, along with Maes (their goat), who has ceased headbutting everyone at first sight, except Tobio. Tobio has grown very attached to him.

Their relationship is unusual all around—Hinata is more a friend to Tobio than a companion of comfort, but as Hinata hasn’t had a friend in years, he finds it to be a welcome change of pace. All in all, it would be the perfect arrangement, but for one small problem.

He thinks he might be in love with Tobio. But Tobio doesn’t want to touch him.

The only thing they’ve ever done in the same bed together is sleep. Hinata has seldom seen Tobio’s father, but he has not forgotten who bought him in the first place. And if his weight in gold is deemed unworthy, nothing good will come of that. At best, he’ll be sold off at a discount, to a less prestigious household. At worst, he’ll be disgraced and cast out to fend for himself.

Whatever they decide to do to him, they will take him away from Tobio. And he can’t let that happen.

So he tries being a bit less subtle.

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anonymous asked:

High school teachers one shot: we leave each other messages on the black board (please and thank you)

[It’s been too long since I had time to write. This was fun to do. :) ]


Bruce was in a hurry, feeling more and more anxious as his thirty students stared at him. He glanced from them–all lined up along the wall of the hallway–to the door of his classroom. The teacher who had the room before him was taking a really, really long time. In just a few seconds the bell would ring and he’d be stuck out here, staring at judgmental fifteen-year-olds. 

He was so wound up that he jumped when the door finally swung open, thirty seconds to spare.

Bruce wasn’t sure what the class was, but based on how buff everyone was it was a class for the sports kids. He hovered nervously by the door as they spilled out like a bag of M&Ms, scattering their separate ways. He glanced at his watch–twenty-five seconds.

Then the teacher stepped out.

Twenty-three seconds.

Bruce didn’t recognized him, but it was a pretty big school. The teacher was about his height but far less slouchy. He had a shock of perfectly straight blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes that twinkled at Bruce as he swaggered by. 

Twenty seconds.

“All yours,” the teacher said. And then he reached out and clapped Bruce on the shoulder, his hand leaving a warm spot on Bruce’s arm as it trailed away.

“Um,” Bruce said. “Thanks.”

Fifteen seconds.

His students all piled into the classroom as Bruce watched the teacher go. His students were giggling to each other when he managed to tear his gaze away.

Ten seconds.

He stepped into the classroom.

Eight seconds.

And looked at the whiteboard.

Five seconds.

Bruce deflated. The board was covered in text. Lines going this way and that in shocking black marker. As the final seconds ticked away Bruce quickly scanned the board and realized this was the Physics remedial course. He frowned. Betrayed by a fellow physics instructor, he thought as the bell rang.

He erased the board and got started a few minutes late. When the class got done he picked up a red marker and scrawled on the upper corner of the board, Erase the board when your class is over.


The next day the blonde teacher was done on time. His hair was spiked up with gel. Bruce tried not to stare.

“All yours,” the teacher said, and Bruce realized those were the only two words he’d ever heard him say, despite the fact he could still feel where they’d touched the day before.

“What’s the class?” Bruce asked, interested, as his students filed in.

The teacher smirked. “Remedial physics.” He shrugged and suddenly he was just as slouchy as Bruce, only in a way that was sort of cool instead of pathetically awkward. He looked more relaxed, anyway, whereas Bruce always felt he looked tense when he slouched. Or just tense in general.

“I’m not the normal teacher,” the blonde went on. He leaned against the wall with one shoulder. “But I guess Ms., uh…”

“Foster?”

“Yeah.” He snapped his fingers. “Ms. Foster took family leave this semester.”

Bruce tried not to be obvious in checking the man out. He certainly didn’t look like a physics teacher. He was too muscular, first of all. Even under his black button down Bruce could make out the perfect shape of his bicep. Perfect size for Bruce to wrap his hand around, if he reached out. Bruce realized he was staring and glanced up again, feeling his face grow hot.

“I’m sure you’re doing a wonderful job.”

The teacher smirked. 

When Bruce stumbled into class the board was blissfully clean, save for the message scrawled in shocking red ink in the corner.

Sorry Freckles. Board’s clean from now on.

Bruce didn’t erase it, and at the end of class he scrawled an amendment. Thanks. Physicists have to stick together.


It went like that. The other teacher ran late more often than not, and usually Bruce only had time to tip his chin up in greeting before scampering into the classroom to read the next note. 

Not actually a physicist shh dont tell the class

You realize they can read this? Bruce’s students had giggled at that.

are you sure? he’d received back

What are you if not a physicist? 

The Amazing Clint Barton, and he’d drawn a little picture of a stick figure firing a bow and arrow. 

We got a memo about you.

All good?

About the new archer instructor. Bruce had included a smiley face with that one.

Aw, shucks, Clint wrote. all grown up getting memos written about me.

They should write one about your atrocious handwriting.

my handwriting is beautiful, Clint scrawled back. It took Bruce all period to decipher what he’d written.

No, but it is unique.

the class wants to know if you can do a guest lecture.

Bruce checked his schedule and wrote back, How about week four? And showed up that week with bells on.

Clint was at the desk in the front madly sorting through papers when Bruce walked in. They were alone, and Clint was engaged in what he was doing, so Bruce took a second to just watch him. Clint’s hair was gelled again today, but one piece must have been missed. It fell onto his forehead, pointing down towards his pretty blue eyes. 

Bruce blinked at himself. Pretty?

“No class yet?” he asked, shutting the door behind him. He glanced at the clock; there were still three minutes of passing time left.

Clint looked up at him and smiled beatifically. “Nah, they’re always late. That’s why I usually keep them after a few minutes.”

“I see.” Bruce didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt hyper-aware of his body. Should he stand by Clint’s desk? Sit in a student desk? Lean against the wall? No, there was no way he could pull that off and look cool. He settled for glancing around the room like he wasn’t socially inept. 

He smiled when he saw his last message to Clint had been replaced by a new one. He’d written, My class thinks you’re a mysterious stranger. Clint had written back, o I’m very mysterious with a winking face.

“You know you can just tell me this,” Bruce pointed out, gesturing at the message. 

Clint looked at the board, studying it. His lips were pursed and his brow furrowed in concentration. “Technically true,” he said. Then he smiled, slow and cunning, and slotted his gaze back to Bruce. “Maybe I can tell you over coffee?”

Geeze, was that a date? Was Clint asking him out on a date? Bruce cataloged the look Clint was giving him–appraising and heated, but wary and a little nervous. He decided, yeah, Clint was asking him out.

Score.

“I’d like that,” Bruce managed to say just as the first students started trickling in with thirty seconds to spare before class.

Clint stood and smiled at him. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah.”

Twenty-five seconds.

The students sat in their chairs, facing forward. Bruce suddenly felt like he was being stared at. He brought his hands together at his waist and nervously tugged at his fingers. “Um,” he said. “I’m usually a tea drinker, though.”

“There’s a good place on fifth.”

Bruce knew it. It was quaint and the chairs at the tables were so close together you always knocked knees with the person you were sitting with. He wondered if that was a calculated move on Clint’s part.

Twenty seconds.

“Sounds perfect.”

“You know.” Clint’s smile grew, just a touch, fond and soft. He glanced at the classroom. “My students think you’re pretty mysterious, too.”

Fifteen seconds.

“Really?” Bruce squeaked. He’d never been called mysterious before. 

“Mmhm.” Clint slipped from behind the desk and took slow, measured steps towards Bruce.

Ten seconds.

“And,” Clint said, leaning in to whisper. Bruce unconsciously leaned towards him as well. “It was kinda my idea to ask you to guest lecture.”

Bruce had assumed that, actually. 

He looked at the class, still half empty, then back to Clint. Five seconds.

“Sit down, Mr. Barton,” he said. “And I’ll teach you something.”

Clint was grinning as the bell rang.

anonymous asked:

Cullen/dorian modern au. Cullen recently comes out as gay and dorian being the good friend he is, makes it his personal mission to take cullen to gay bars and hook him up with strangers. All the while being oblivious to cullen's obvious crush on him.

Dorian’s known, for as long as he can recall, that he was gay. He’s never lied to himself about that aspect of himself. To his family and acquaintances? Of course! Who doesn’t lie to their parents about sex? Though Dorian hadn’t expected that he’d have a damn good reason to lie until he overheard them discussing conversion camps and had actually taken the time to look up what that meant.

Amazing how much the threat of brainwashing could straighten a gay boy up. At least until Dorian could legally declare himself an adult and run the fuck away.

His wonderful familial experiences aside, Dorian’s never doubted his own inclinations. In the time since he’s been on his own he’s had the chance to meet a good number of people who weren’t always that lucky. He’s helped those he could and watched far too many good men and women suffer when he couldn’t. Which isn’t the point of the night, and he turns his thoughts away from that depressing thought before he ends up in a very black mood.

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